


2. Sam and Ryan meet at the LA Citadel Club

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	2. Sam and Ryan meet at the LA Citadel Club

__**Sam and Ryan Kwanten ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/) ) meet at the LA Citadel Club**   
**players only. current.**

_warning: bloodplay_

Ryan props his booted feet up on a bar stool, ignoring the eyeroll that fetches him from the Citadel serving girl -- as if there's never been anything more than a little dirt on the stools. "Bottle of Redhook, please," he asks, then adds, "and a plate of onion rings." He should look to ordering something more substantial before he goes home, he knows. He likes to cook, but he hasn't bothered to grocery shop in days, and it's tough to do one without the other. For now, though... for now, he just wants to relax, take in the scenery, maybe play a little if the mood strikes him. He pulls tight at the well-worn fabric of his t-shirt, smoothing the hem down over a favorite pair of ripped jeans, and looks at the boys and girls in leather and latex in the bar around him. He certainly doesn't stand out in this crowd, and he wonders if he should have bothered to dress with more care today. _What the hell_.

Sam's a little more dressed up than usual when he comes into the bar. Black button-down shirt in place of his usual Motorhead tee over his favourite jeans. It's not a huge concession but it seems to make all the difference to his agent and the studio suits he meets with out here. Sparing a moment's glance for the floor show in front of him, he heads for the bar instead. First things first, even for him. "Pint of Guinness and a burger and fries," he says when he gets the girl's attention, still not sure how they manage to call the finicky plates and small portions at half the fucking restaurants here actual food. "Hey," he smiles and nods at the guy next to him, too hungry still really to notice him at first glance, but then his eyes flicker back and his cock stirs almost immediately. Nice. Very nice. Christ.

"Hey." The accent catches Ryan's ear and he recognizes Sam immediately, aware as he usually is of people from back home who left and made good. He never knows what to do with actors and their egos, though; do they want to be recognized in their off time? "I enjoyed your work in Avatar," he says. In _Clash of the Titans_ , too, although it would probably be overkill to say so. It doesn't matter. He feels stupid the second the words are out of his mouth, anyway, his face flushing beneath his tan.

"Thanks." Sam cocks his head at the guy. Figures he'd find the one other fucking Aussie in here. "Fellow countryman, yeah?"

"Sydney." Ryan nods, dropping his feet to the floor so he can face Sam more fully and hold out his hand. "I'm Ryan Kwanten. Good to meet you."

"Sam Worthington," he says, shaking Ryan's hand. Knowing what he's been in isn't the same as knowing who he is. "Perth." He grins, noting that they're pretty evenly matched for size. "And it's good to meet you too." He gestures to the empty bar in front of Ryan. "Can I buy you a drink? Burger?"

"Oh no, I'm... thanks," he says to the serving girl who delivers both their beers at the same time, Sam's with considerably more charm, "I'm good now." Damn, Sam's looks have an even higher impact in person. Ryan isn't usually this tongue-tied. "Ah, you out here much?"

"More than I like these days," Sam answers, raising his glass to Ryan. "What about you? You're an actor?"

"Me? Nah." Ryan laughs off the idea. He can't imagine putting himself out there the way that Sam does, with no hope of anonymity. "I'm a songwriter. When I perform, I like it to be one-on-one." The instant he says it he realizes he's in the wrong locale for such a naive declaration, and backtracks, "I mean, usually. Sometimes." He shakes his head, flushing again. "Fuck. Forget it."

"Not a chance, mate," Sam says, grinning widely, but he relents a moment later, mindful that his meal's still coming and his stomach's starting to rumble. "Would I know any of your work?"

"You know 'Wide Open' by Aidan Scott? That one's mine," Ryan answers, still feeling a thrill of pride at the words. He just hopes Sam didn't hear the song and think it was annoying as crap. He hides his smile in a swallow of beer, then nods his thanks to a slavegirl when she delivers his food. "I wrote a few for his latest album."

Sam nods his thanks as well, stomach giving a loud rumble when his burger's set in front of him. "Sorry," he laughs, shaking his head. "I had this weird Asian steak salad thing for lunch." He cups his hands tight, indicating a small mound of food in the middle of a plate. "Thought I was gonna eat the napkins and tablecloth before we finished." He grins. "But yeah, I know that song. It's yours?" He nods, smiling. "Cool. It's really good."

"Thanks." Ryan grins at him, showing the barest hint of a dimple. All right, receiving a compliment on his work that way never gets old. Best change the subject before he embarrasses himself, again. "Business lunch?" he asks, referring back to Sam's salad. "Be careful," he teases. "If they're weakening you like that, it could only be because they want something."

"I know, right?" Sam shakes his head, taking a huge bite of his burger. He chews quickly and washes it down with a good swallow of Guinness. Needing to get something in his stomach and fast. "Yeah. They want me to do a sequel to _Clash of the Titans_ , and I've said yes, but we're still fighting over where it's going to fit into my schedule."

"Seriously?" Ryan's eyes light up. "Fuck me, you were so hot in that. Sorry," he winces, and presses his palm to his forehead, "sorry. I have this Idiot's Disease, have you heard of it? It's where I just say everything that pops into my head without thinking sometimes. Don't worry, it's not contagious."

Sam cracks up. "Hey." He shrugs, eyeing Ryan a little more closely. "I tend to be pretty blunt myself." Especially when he's not ravenously hungry. "Cuts through all the crap."

Ryan nods slowly, feeling that gaze on him like a palpable touch. And wanting more. "I respect that," he says softly. His eye falls on Sam's plate. "I'm keeping you from your replacement dinner." He lost interest in his own food a while ago.

"No, you're not," Sam says, taking another bite, chewing slowly and washing it down with more Guinness. "Besides which," he continues, "you can make it up to me after," he adds with a sly grin.

Grinning, Ryan picks up his beer. "That's all I needed to know," he agrees. His awareness of Sam's body shoots up in an instant, every nerve ending seeming to stand up and sing. His cock tightens with anticipation.

"You can also keep me entertained by giving me the rundown," Sam says, popping a chip into his mouth. Happy as a fucking clam now that he's got dessert lined up as well. "What you like, what you don't, what's totally off-limits..."

It still tickles Ryan to be asked what he likes. As if... as if he's not about to hand over that power anyway, and they both know it. "I like..." he falters. "Out here in the club? I like to be spanked, I like my prick tortured, I like anything that leaves a mark. Back there?" He gestures towards the lifts, and by extension, the scening rooms, "I love anything that draws blood. Scat is off-limits, and I suck at roleplaying. My safeword is Sydney." With a shrug, he leans casually back against the bar, like Sam's answer won't make a difference to him. "Any of this interest you?"

Sam's grin widens. "Hell yeah. All of it." He picks up another chip. "How much pain would you say you can take?" he asks. "Scale of one to ten." He's knows it's an arbitrary measure but it's always interesting to hear the answer.

"I'd say an eight. A nine, depending." An answering grin tugs at the corner of Ryan's mouth, and his cock gives an unruly throb. "How much would you say you like to dish out?"

Sam grins. "As much as you can take," he says bluntly, although it's not anything close to bravado. He really is a sadistic son of a bitch.

Ryan's mouth starts to water. "You, um. You almost done?" he asks diffidently. He's been accused before of being a pushy fucking sub. He's trying hard not to let the tendency come to the fore. Not at a first meeting, anyway.

Sam laughs. "Almost," he says, making quick work of the last of his burger and leaving the rest of his chips. He drains his glass and sets it down beside his plate, nodding to the girl behind the bar that he's done. "You're an eager one," he comments, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tossing a couple of bills onto the bar. "That should cover us both."

"Thanks." _Eager_ doesn't really begin to cover it. Ryan lets his hot gaze roam openly over Sam now, that tight muscled body he's itching to touch. He toys with the hem of his t-shirt. "I've been working too much. Haven't been fucked in more than a week."

"A whole week?" Sam grins, head cocked a little to one side as he takes Ryan in, noting that tell-tale fidgeting with his t-shirt. "Guess we'd better do something about that," he says, motioning towards the lifts and flashing his keycard at Ryan. "I already have a room."

With a grin, Ryan leads the way. "What are my boundaries with you?" he asks, pushing the up button and turning to watch Sam with a predatory light in his eye. "How much am I allowed to do?" Sam doesn't seem like someone who stands on ceremony, but he's not willing to risk blowing this whole encounter just for pushing too much.

"Aside from being mouthy or fighting me, pretty much anything," Sam answers after a long moment, giving the question some careful consideration. "Patience isn't one of my virtues, and anyone who figures they're going to push my buttons or needs a struggle to submit is gonna find themselves out on their ass."

"Awesome." In a second Ryan is on him, backing Sam against the wall and kissing him fiercely, hungrily, his fingers tangling in Sam's hair. Fuck he needs this.

There's no doubt the move takes him by surprise, but Sam recovers quickly, kissing back every bit as roughly, his tongue in Ryan's mouth, his thigh between the other man's legs, pressing there, right there, feeling the hot, hard length of him through his jeans. More than a week. Fuck.

It's exactly what Ryan wants, to have his own lust met and matched. He moans into the kiss and rubs himself against Sam's thigh, damn near dry-humping. Maybe he's easy. But when it's good, it's just that good.

Sam gets his hands on Ryan's ass and hikes him even closer, grinding against him as well. Bites at his mouth, his lips, twisting the lower one between his teeth before finally pulling back, breathlessly licking his own lips when the lift dings its arrival. "I think eager might've been a huge understatement," he says, grinning, waiting for the doors to actually open.

Ryan shrugs, unapologetic, his fingers still in Sam's hair. Those hands feel so damn good that it's fucking hard to school himself, step back like he's still got a shred of self-control. "Been wanting to kiss you since you sat down next to me."

Sam turns to hold the door open, nudging Ryan inside and pushing the button for the fourth floor. "Did I say I was complaining?"

"No." Ryan grins, licking out at his bottom lip where Sam teased him. "Can I get naked now?"

"Here?" It's not like Sam hasn't had his play partners naked in the lifts before, but usually they were already in that state, or waited for his room. "Be my guest." Leaning against the far wall, determined to make the most of show he's about to get.

 _Awesome_. Ryan's a little on the impatient side, and right now he's just thrilled Sam's not smacking him back for it. He peels off his shirt, stretching his arms overhead. Well aware that he looks damn good, and proud to show it off after how hard he's worked for it. He bends over to undo the side zips on his boots, then slowly unbuckles his belt and pulls it free of his jeans. At this rate they'll get to the fourth floor and he'll still be half-dressed, but he's working it.

A soft appreciative groan spills from Sam's lips. Ryan obviously works out and it shows, as does what he likes to do on the side. "You weren't kidding when you said you're into blood," he comments, the way he's looking at Ryan making it clear, that again, it's not a complaint.

Ryan shakes his head, struck mute by that hot gaze. He kicks free of his jeans and stands totally naked in front of Sam as the lift doors slide open once more.

Sam puts his hand in front of the sensor and takes a good long look, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. Finally, he smiles and says, "You'd better get your clothes and come on before I fuck you right here," already heading down the hall to his room.

Shivering, Ryan breathes again for what feels like the first time in an eternity. He scoops up his clothes and has to double back for his boots, trying not to trip over suddenly-clumsy feet. He jogs lightly after Sam, wincing a little at the bob of his erection, and tries to remember the last time he felt this much excitement, this tense on pure anticipation alone.

It sure wasn't last week.

Opening the door to his room, Sam turns on the light and then stands back, motioning for Ryan to go first, his eyes on his ass as he passes. "It's a little messy," he says, more matter-of-fact than apologetic. "You can put your clothes on the chair there and then I want you with your hands behind your head. I'll be right back." Heading for the bathroom where he washes his hands really well with antibacterial soap, even scrubbing under his nails with the provided nail brush.

"Yes, Sir." Ryan takes up position as ordered, but while Sam's out of the room he also seizes the opportunity to look around, absorbing the lived-in details. He idly wonders why Sam doesn't take advantage of the Citadel’s housekeeping service, but he really couldn't care less. Clasping his fingers together he shuts his eyes and blows out a long breath, centering. Focusing. Hearing every sound Sam makes, feeling every throb of blood through his body.

When Sam comes back, he's still drying his hands with a towel, a smile on his lips and in his eyes. "Legs a little wider," he orders, wanting to see how quickly Ryan follows instruction.

Ryan swiftly spreads his thighs further, until he's just beginning to feel the stretch, but nowhere near the limits of his flexibility. His eyes snap open and he stares at a framed photograph on the wall opposite, not really seeing it. Listening.

So far, so good. "How did you get these?" Sam asks, running his fingers over the healing scabs on Ryan's chest.

"A few weeks ago." Ryan's breath hisses in at Sam's touch, his heartbeat pounding palpably just beneath. "I hired one of the in-house Dominants to cut me. I've asked him before, so I knew he was good."

"The scabs on these are fresher than a couple of weeks," Sam observes, tracing over the more recent ones.

Ryan swallows, and nods. "Yeah, that was me." He lets out a shaky breath and confesses, "I tend to open them up again. Um, a few times. Before I let them heal." His gaze drops to Sam's hand before he adds unnecessarily, "So I bleed again." It sounds kind of creepy when he says it aloud.

"And you toss off? While you're bleeding," Sam clarifies, his cock liking that idea very much, thank you.

"Yes, Sir." Ryan licks his lips. "Blood turns me on." Other people's even more than his own, but, well, he's only got his own to play with.

And there goes his cock again. Sam nods. "Obviously you're not worried about scarring, yeah?" Fingers moving lower, playing over Ryan’s stomach and groin while ignoring his cock which twitches hard every time he even gets near it.

"Nah. Should probably be, I know." Fuck, Sam makes it hard to concentrate. It takes everything Ryan's got just to hold his position and focus on answering the questions. Especially when his steady breathing's shot all to hell now.

"Not necessarily," Sam says, scraping a nail over one of the scabs. "Not like you're an actor or anything." He grins. "And some guys find this," nail digging deeper, starting to re-open that first scab, "hot as hell."

Ryan whimpers, a tiny helpless sound. For all Sam's questions, he never expected _this_. "Sir," he whispers, his eyes squeezing shut. The tiny pain flares, so small and familiar it hardly registers at all, but its significance nearly slams Ryan off his feet.

Sam leans in, kissing him, tongue delving into Ryan's mouth as he peels that first scab open completely.

A thin trail of blood smears on Sam's fingers when Ryan's breath surges, his chest hitching. He moans into the kiss, his head swimming, his shoulders aching. A dangerous emotional vertigo lurks, but he doesn't even have the mental space to deal with that right now. The payback will be intense. Later.

Sam pulls back, wanting to watch, his eyes flickering from Ryan's face to his chest to his cock and back again. Over and over as he uses his nail to re-open one scab after another, fingers slicking through the blood that wells up from under the surface. "Fucking beautiful," he murmurs.

It's a deceptively simple act, intimate beyond words. No one ever does this for Ryan. The Citadel Doms he hires all wear gloves, and the other members he's played with casually won't touch his blood at all. Sam is different. The approval... it's an incredible bonus. "Please. Sir," Ryan breathes, his gaze hazy as he struggles to focus on Sam, "please let me taste."

Sam knows the risks and orally they're virtually nothing, even if he wasn't certain Ryan's clean. He smiles, nods, leans in and licks across the wounds he's left then kisses Ryan, fucking his tongue into his mouth again. Letting him taste, although he knows damn well this wasn't what the other man had in mind.

 _Christ!_ Is Sam trying to fucking destroy him? Ryan shudders, his entire body shaking. He whimpers into the kiss, his fingers locked tight in their grip behind his head. The only thing that's keeping him from flying into a thousand pieces is the desperate fear that if he disobeys Sam's orders to hold still, then Sam might stop touching him like this.

"Is that what you wanted?" Sam breathes when he finally draws back.

In answer Ryan just drops his forehead to rest on Sam's shoulder, needing the support for a moment. "Thank you," he whispers, certain he can still taste Sam, a darker mystery lingering behind the familiar flavor of his own blood. He presses his lips to Sam's neck, nuzzling, licking. "Please. Let me... something..."

Sam nods, his throat tight, dry with arousal. "Undress me."

Ryan's fingers still tremble a touch when he unbuttons Sam's shirt, slips it from his shoulders. He kneels to take care of Sam's belt and jeans and it feels so right, this place he nearly landed not long ago, close as he was to his knees giving out when Sam kissed him. It's ultra humble, nearly worship when he braces the man's foot on his naked thigh so he can take off his boot, but that feels right too, just now.

Sam's silent, watching Ryan, his cock already aching, the coppery taste of the other man's blood still there, on his lips, as his tongue darts out to wet them. Christ. It's been a while since he played this way, too many people too fucking worried about sharing blood in any way, no matter how safe. But this feels good, right, and besides, he gets the impression Ryan's as laidback about the "rules" as he is.

Once Sam's totally naked Ryan looks up at him from his knees, drinking in the sight. He rubs his cheek against Sam's thigh - strong muscle, warm skin - and makes a soft sound of pleasure.

Sam echoes that sound, sliding a hand into Ryan's hair and tugging lightly. "Give me your mouth," he orders. It's not the way he wants to finish, but it's a hell of a good way to start.

Smiling slightly, Ryan grazes his lips over the head of Sam's cock. Then he slowly begins to lick, flickering his tongue over the crown and into the slit. Teasing them both. He closes his hand around the root, velvet-covered steel, and begins stroking, finally taking Sam deep into his mouth and beginning to suck.

"Oh fuck," slips from Sam's mouth and his head goes back for a moment, eyes closed, just savouring the feel, both hands in Ryan's hair now, sliding through the strands again and again. "Yeah, that's it," he murmurs, forcing himself to open his eyes again and watch, the show too good to miss.

God those fingers feel good. But Ryan wasn't built for this. He lacks the kinky gene which would have set him up to settle on his knees and just passively suck dick like he was born to it. No, the gene he got instead was for growling and pushing and _taking_ a blowjob when he wants to give one. He wraps his other hand around Sam's ass cheek, squeezing it as he sucks his cock deeper.

Sam chuckles, cock responding eagerly to Ryan's unbridled enthusiasm. It's one of the reasons he doesn't stand on formality. It takes away all the fucking surprises.

With a soft moan Ryan starts to move on Sam, bobbing his head and swallowing hungrily. There's not much he wouldn't do at this moment, grateful and blood-stunned as he is. He wants to be better than good. He wants to be remembered.

Hands tightening on Ryan's scalp, Sam meets those bobs with some thrusts of his own, pushing himself deeper into the other man's throat, pleasure humming steadily through his bloodstream.

Ryan's skin is lighting up like it's on fire, every sense focused on Sam. His own prick pulses with need but instead of being a distraction it seems to add to the sex haze. Dropping his head back he opens up, inviting Sam to take more, take all.

Groaning loudly, Sam takes advantage, shoving deeper on the next thrust, his eyes locked on Ryan's mouth, on those lips stretched around his solid, rigid flesh. Christ. He fucks his throat for a few more thrusts, orgasm starting to build, then pulls back, breathing a little more heavily. "Fuck you're good, but I want to come in your ass, not your mouth. Get up."

Much as he wants to obey, it takes Ryan a moment of just sitting there on his knees, mouth wet, eyes dazed. Then he snaps back, his heartbeat thundering. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, swallowing hard, and his hole clenches around nothing. Eager. "Where do you want me?"

Sam contemplates the question for a moment then grins. "Bathroom," he says, gaze flickering over Ryan's chest which is already starting to scab over again. "Hands braced against the sink and eyes on the mirror."

 _Fuck yes_. Ryan doesn't waste any time. He splays his fingers on the marble vanity and stares at his reflection, jarred for an instant by the sight of his own eyes, dark with lust and anticipation. Much better to watch in the mirror for Sam. And try desperately not to notice the brush of his aching cock against his belly.

Sam moves behind Ryan, reaching in front of him for a condom and a packet of lube. Gets the condom rolled onto his still spit-slicked cock and spreads some lube over his fingers and between Ryan's cheeks, stroking over and around his hole for a moment before pushing two slowly into him.

It's a touch Ryan's been waiting for, and Sam's drawing it out. Ryan groans and clutches at Sam's fingers, trying to take more, faster. His eyes slip shut before he reminds himself to watch again. Drinking in the look on Sam's face.

"You like that?" Sam says, grinning, twisting those same two fingers deeper. It's not really a question, more an observation, a tease, a way of letting Ryan know he'll be getting what Sam wants to give him when he wants to give it to him.

Ryan's mouth curves in a crooked grin. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs, and hisses as Sam brushes past his prostate. "Want your cock, though." Impatient. Greedy. Sometimes Ryan wonders if he even _has_ any virtues.

"How much do you want my cock?" Sam asks, grin widening again, a third finger added on the next push inward.

"Enough that... uh..." Ryan fights to quell his body's instinctive urge to fuck himself on Sam's fingers, his hips jerking just a bit. And he tries like hell to think. Not easy when Sam is... _Fuck!_ "Sir, please," he begs, "please fuck me, please use this boy, need you to fucking split me open, _need_ you, please..." The words just spill out.

 _Nice_. And a hell of lot more than Sam was expecting. He twists his fingers one more time, making sure to stroke right over Ryan's prostate then pulls them free, lines up and pushes in, slowly but steadily, all the way in to the root, his eyes on Ryan's face in the mirror.

Ryan's breath blows out in a rush and he hunches his shoulders, bracing against the sink. Sam's eyes are hypnotic. Clenching his muscles, Ryan groans, swiftly trying to adjust. Definitely not like last week.

"Christ, you're tight." It's porn talk, no doubt, but no less true in this case. Fuck. Sam groans and pushes deeper, making sure he's all the way in, balls nice and snug against Ryan's hole before pulling back and pushing in again, this time a little harder.

"Yoga," Ryan manages, his hands clenching into fists. He shoves back against Sam, his heart thundering. "You should see my firefly pose."

"That mean you're bendy as well as tight?" Sam grits out, bracing his legs on either of Ryan's body and shoving up hard into him, hands sliding around to his chest, fingers moving over those scabs again, the blood still sticky. His cock throbbing in anticipation.

"Uh... uh-huh." What Ryan's not, obviously, is particularly verbal at times like this. Well, can't have everything. He whimpers at the touch of Sam's fingers, a sight he didn't get to see the first time, and then his eyes lock on Sam's face like a laser. "Please."

Sam nods, thrusting deep again and dragging his nails down Ryan's chest, re-opening most of the scabs all at once, and again, for the ones he didn't catch the first time. His cock jerking, violently, at the sight and the smell of the blood and the look, Christ, the _look_ on Ryan's face.

Ryan moans, bucking furiously back. The way he can feel Sam responding _inside_ him, fuck, the scarlet in the mirror, he feels surrounded. It's overwhelming. "Sir!" he begs, nearly incoherent now, trying to lick blood from Sam's fingers.

Smearing one hand through the blood welling on Ryan's chest, Sam presses his fingers against Ryan's mouth, blood coating his lips, suddenly right on edge and holding back only through sheer willpower. "I'm gonna come," he warns.

With a whimper Ryan nods and closes his mouth around Sam's fingers, sucking on them in frenzied bliss. That little warning voice in the back of his head speaks up and reminds him to watch, but the images don't even make sense to his brain anymore. He's all sensation now.

"Oh, fuck," Sam groans, breath hitching at the same time as his hips, cock pulsing hot thick ropes of come into the latex, again and again and again, his teeth clamping down on Ryan's shoulder, digging in tight.

It's too much. Ryan shouts, his entire body seizing up tight. Every fucking nerve is overloaded in an instant, and he comes without even a chance of holding back, spraying hot over the sink.

Anyone else would probably be pissed but Sam's just smug. He knows it was a mind-blowing experience for both of them and hell, he never said anything about Ryan not coming or needing permission. He pulls back, grinning, eyes sparkling, mouth brushed over the mark he's left on Ryan's shoulder. Chuckles softly. "I think we might be in need of a shower," he says, quickly chucking the condom. "Or if you need to lie down, we can do that first."

Ryan shudders, his entire body shaking. Christ, he's freezing. Sam's voice sounds so far away. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out, so he licks dry lips and tries again. "Shower," he croaks, his eyes squeezed shut, "hot."

Sam gets Ryan turned around, gets an arm under him for support and them both to the shower, one hand reaching in to turn it on, testing the temperature before they both step in. "You okay?" he asks, letting Ryan lean against him, one arm kept tight around him as he splashes the water against Ryan's chest, watches the blood run down skin to tile and into the drain. "There's the bench if you want it."

That gets a shrug, a mumble. Sitting down would be good. But instinctively Ryan knows that if he pulls back from Sam for a second now, he's going to withdraw totally; it's just how he is. So he wraps his arms around him and holds tight. And the chill starts to leave his body. Lifting his head he kisses Sam's chin, his cheek, seeking blindly until he finds his mouth.

Sam kisses back, surprised at much arousal is still there, still humming through his body. Ryan tastes good, blood on his lips, on his tongue, and Sam licks into his mouth, seeking it out, searching for the real taste beneath the metallic tang.

The kiss is powerful, grounding in all the right ways. Ryan is still so tired but he's coming back out of himself now, focusing on Sam again. Where he should be. He slips his hand up to rub in Sam's wet hair, tactile pleasure.

Finally pulling back, Sam smiles softly, eyes scanning Ryan's face. "Hey."

Ryan blinks. "Hey." He eases back as well but can't stop touching, hot water sluicing over him as he slides his hands over Sam's shoulders, his arms, fingers linking together for a moment before he lets go.

"We should get you cleaned up and into bed," Sam says, although truth be told, he's pretty fucking happy here in the shower, just touching and being touched. His brain still busy in the background processing the whole scene.

"Okay," Ryan nods, still lingering for a last kiss. He forces himself to keep it short in case that's what Sam wants, but as soon as he steps out onto the bath mat he's freezing again, quickly reaching for a towel and wrapping it around himself.

"Here. Let me," Sam orders, pulling another towel from the rack and starting to dry Ryan, his movements brisk and efficient. "I want you to get into bed and I'll clean up your cuts there." It's not going to be a big production anyway. Some antibacterial ointment and he can leave them be since Ryan obviously does.

Another nod - damn, he's tired - and Ryan staggers off to flop down face-first. The bed feels amazing, and he smiles blearily into a pillow. Fuck the bed, _he_ feels amazing. He snickers, rolling to his back.

"What's so funny, mate?" Sam asks, climbing in beside Ryan, tube of ointment in his hand, already uncapped, the foil popped.

It takes a second to really focus on Sam's face, but Ryan grins up at him like he's the greatest thing in the world. Come to think of it... "I just feel so fucking good," he says, and damn near giggles.

Sam grins and laughs. "Glad to hear it," he says, leaning in and kissing Ryan firmly on the mouth, unable to resist that smile. He holds up the ointment. "You gonna let me take care of your cuts?"

"Yeah." Ryan traces his fingers over Sam's bicep, just touching for the pleasure of it. Sort of staying out of the man's way. "Got to keep 'em clean so I can open them up again."

"How do you hold off long enough to let them heal?" Sam asks, gently and carefully spreading a thin layer of ointment over each and every cut.

Ryan shrugs lightly, closing his eyes and simply letting himself feel. "It's hard. Sometimes I can only get up the willpower to let the old ones heal when I know I'm going to be cut again."

Sam nods, thinking things over for a long moment before he speaks again. "Anytime you need it, you can call me if you want," he offers. "Of course, that's assuming you even live here. For all I know, you're just in from Timbuktu for the day," he adds with a grin.

"Nah, I live here." Ryan's eyes open and he watches Sam steadily for a few seconds, considering. "Thank you," he says finally. "That's a lot to offer." After today, though, he's got no doubt Sam would be good at it. He trails his knuckles down Sam's arm. "What else do you like?"

"CBT, needles, whips," Sam says with a light shrug, capping the ointment. "I like serious anal play. Not just fucking, but fisting, stretching, stuffing..."

"Aww, you sweet talker, you," Ryan murmurs through a smile, barely quelling a shiver. "And yet you seem so not-crazy. As opposed to a lot of the sadists I meet, I mean." He yawns. "Can I really have your number?"

"Yeah. I'll give it to you before we go," Sam says, raising an eyebrow. "You thought I was kidding?" Not that it's that strange Ryan would doubt him. Giving out his number's not exactly a habit with him.

"Just checking." Ryan laces their fingers together and tugs Sam to lie down more fully next to him. "Sleep with me?"

Sam nods, stretching out on his side beside Ryan. "I'm not sure I said how fucking brilliant this was. Definitely not what I was expecting when I walked into the bar."

"Yeah. Me too," Ryan adds after a moment. It doesn't quite match up with the words, but he thinks Sam probably knows what he means.

Sam nods. "Good." Gives Ryan another smile, leaning in to kiss him again. "Close your eyes and get some rest."  



End file.
